The Deepest Night
by AceOfSpades22
Summary: Years ago, a Spanish Captain spared the life of that of Captain Arthur Kirkland, despite having ever reason to kill him. Not only did he give him this gift, but he also took care of him and let him go with a promise. Arthur can only hope such a promise will be kept, no matter how far into the future.


**And here I present, another Pirate SpUK. I have to say, I rather enjoyed writing this one. Gave me a break from the angst of zombies of Teeth and a Bullet. So, without any further rambling, I present this new story.**

* * *

It was early. Far too early for any living soul to be awake, slipping through the streets of Berkshire. It was that time of deep night, or maybe early morning, where one could feel the darkness in their very soul, even a soul as blackened as that of one young man. A Spanish conquistador by the name of Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

Conquistador in his mind, grand and strong, bold and valiant, seeking out the weaker to acquire that which the rich and outgoing should be born with. A murderer to those who he stole from, slaying any who rose to challenge that which he commanded, both in the form of the villagers he plundered from, and those of his crew not nearly as loyal as need be. A hero to those he stole for, the famished people back home, those who knew little about where his fortunes came from, only that he had it and gave to them.

Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, was a bloody pirate. A bloody, _Spanish _pirate, in Berkshire, where her majesty, Queen Elizabeth I's stunning palace, with its ten new brass cannons and plans for a new bridge to the park to be constructed, sat in all its magnificent glory. Windsor Castle, was not a sore sight to the greed coated heart of the Spanish conquistador.

It was there he slunk to, in the cover of that deep night or early morning, where the dark was so pure he could feel it in his soul.

Silent as the dead, he crept past the scant number of guardsmen, smirking to himself at just how confident the young queen was that her precious England was safe from all attack. After all, where there was one Spanish conquistador, it was likely others would follow.

Not tonight.

The Queen was safe.

Antonio wasn't one, despite being pegged as that of a murderous pirate, to kill needlessly. It sat poorly with him, and often, he could feel the spirits of those he had slain creep into his body, setting an ache in his bones. No, tonight was not a night for murder. He sought out something else entirely.

Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had one, gigantic weakness. A weakness so great, in fact, he had a strange legend about him for it. Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had let the one prisoner he had ever kept, go.

It had happened a handful of years back when his splendid vessel had been brutalized and attacked by that of an enemy ship. An _English _ship. Valiant his shipmates had been, though many fell under pointed sword. Cannon fodder. It looked as though he would lose all he had worked for in that battle as his men fell one by one until there were barely enough left alive to man the war scarred craft that carried them.

That was, until a flash of blue caught his glaring, verdant eyes. So captivating he was as he swung from his own ship to Antonio's! Robes flapped behind him, the crisp sound sending fierce pangs of envy through his Spanish bones. How could one, a captain no less, sit back while his crew fought on? Bile welled up in Antonio's throat at the mere thought of sitting out of battle, just to parade around in his own crimson splendor! And yet...

As he caught sight of a sneering alabaster face, and heard the sounds of battle and clamor die all around him, no doubt everyone else, Spanish or English, becoming captivated by the man's sheer brilliance, he couldn't hold back the sigh of awe that befell his lips. The pale man's skin looked smooth as porcelain, his eyes the brightest, purest emeralds Antonio had ever seen, and his smirk! Oh how the Spaniard would swoon, had a profound hatred not built up inside at the flaxen haired man's arrogance and laziness!

Then, the English sea god spoke: "Where is the captain? I have heard of his viciousness! Send him forth to do battle with me, so that I may disembowel him as I will his ship once we are through!" A sword, the blade decorated in strange patterns the likes of which Antonio had never seen, gleamed hungrily in the English man's hand. He wanted to fight with Antonio?

The Spanish captain hardly knew what to say! It was thought to be an honor, to be sought out by another captain to battle. He was held so highly in this demon's emerald eyes? Antonio was clever though, not allowing such reverence to distract him. He was known for his wits, as much as he was for his strength and fearlessness. For his commanding grace and power. It was these wits that prompted him to respond, not as the captain the Englishman so desired, but as that of a greenhorn. A lowly crewmember.

"The captain? Sir, I can fetch him. First though, might I know a name to which I can address you by to him?" Antonio questioned, surely never having seen the blond before. His questions, and perhaps his intentionally unimposing posture, drew the English captain towards him, just what Antonio desired.

"Aye. Lad, my name is Captain Arthur Kirkland! The most dreaded pirate the likes of which Spain has never seen! Now go! Bring to me your captain, so that I may do battle with him and so prove myself in what I claim to be!" Arthur's tone was triumphant, as though he had already won! It ground so harshly on Antonio's nerves, but he didn't snarl or snap.

No, instead the clever captain scanned the bodies of the fallen that lay beside his feet until he located the shaft of his fearsome battle ax, mere centimeters from his left, leather booted foot. His weapon located, he subtly slid the toe of his boot under the shaft, ready to kick it up for when he'd need it.

"Captain Arthur Kirkland, your words are so boastful, yet you say you must prove your image! Surely there are other captains you have slain? Tell them all to me, so that I may put fear in the heart of my captain." Antonio requested, watching with humbled, curious verdant eyes as the rival captain raised a bushy eyebrow and took a few more steps closer, just out of reach should Antonio choose to lift his ax and swing.

"Lad, you waste my time! I have sunk many a Spanish ship, all from the King's Armada, and I have sunk that of three pirate ships of Spanish blood! Now do as I say, go and fetch me your captain! I wish to do battle with him to prove he is not as fierce and respected as everyone says!" Arthur snapped, growing a little impatient with the undercover captain before him.

Again, Antonio felt awed that he was held in such high regards, so much so a fond smile quirked up his lips. He was powerful and feared, even in the stories on land! Briefly, he wonder how big of a bounty was placed on his chocolate locked head, and while he disapproved of distractions, he had to ask, to sate his curiosity. Preparing though as well, he pushed up the sleeve of his functional yet elegant, button up white shirt, not wanting the fabric to get in the way when it came time for battle.

"Captain Arthur Kirkland, you say my captain is fierce and respected! How big is the bounty on his head back in England?" Antonio asked, noting the anger that marked the Englishman's jaw line as he clenched his teeth and flared his nostrils, grip tightening on the hand of his sword.

As much as he wanted an answer, he was never given one was the English captain lunged for his throat with his gleaming sword that hungered for blood. Antonio, of course was ready. Had he not been waiting throughout the questions anyway? He kicked up the shaft of his ax and caught in it gloveless hands in time to parry the lethal slash of the other man's sword.

Now, where Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had heard the tale a thousand times, each more glorified than the last, the battle that followed was neither splendid, bloody, nor drawn out. Only one injury was given, a shallow nick Antonio received on his cheek, and only a handful of blows were exchanged.

What truly happened was, Antonio shoved Arthur away from him as another sword slash was aimed for his throat, the blade only catching his cheek with the very tip. Fueled by the bloodshed, a mighty cry roared from the Spaniard's lips as his verdant eyes flashed their challenge. He cried out to the heavens, voice louder than that of the mightiest wave, more piercing than that of the brightest lightning strike, and more powerful than that of the strongest clap of thunder: "I am Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, feared conquistador of Spain, and you, Captain Arthur Kirkland, have no place on my ship!" and with the words still ringing in the air, he lunged at the startled English captain who, in his haste to get away, caught his magnificent navy robes on a splintered piece of wood from one of the smaller masts of the ship, distracting him long enough for Antonio to knock him to the ground and have two survivors of his crew hold him there.

It was only from there when he had a third retrieve his coat from where it hung across the back of his chair in his quarters, complete with the most dazzling hat in existence, and he adorned the articles, truly becoming in appearance, what he already had been.

From there, he glared at all the men on his ship, some looking back in awe, while others in fear, and he held his ax at his side, a firm look on his face. "Listen well! All who do not belong on this ship leave, or else you will be disemboweled in the way your captain had planned for me! You will never attack this ship again, or may the vessel you sail in be dragged down to Davey Jones' Locker! As my treasure, I will keep your captain as a prisoner, and you will all forget the name Captain Arthur Kirkland!"

All the men of Arthur's ship obeyed without question, afraid of what the fierce Spaniard would do to them if they stayed. Every last one left, and the ship sailed off into the horizon, all forgetting the name Captain Arthur Kirkland and any ties they had with him.

"To your feet, Captain Kirkland. It is the brig in which you sleep tonight!" Antonio barked, personally escorting his new found prisoner to the cells in which he spoke. Not an unkind man though, he turned once Arthur was in his new home and removed his hat from his head, leaving it on a barrel beside the cell.

"As I respect you, you will be referred to as Captain Kirkland. I will have one of mine, repair the tear in your coat, but to keep your captain status, you may wear this hat, so those know you are above them, even imprisoned as you are." He rumbled, voice rolling with the same commanding power he had held on deck. "As my prisoner, you will be fed when the crew is fed, and if you prove yourself, I will set you free."

He was met with silence, though he had expected as much, and left with a flourish of his hand, the navy garment of the enemy captain slung over his shoulder.

As soon as he was back on the deck, the proud captain raised his eyes to that of what remained of his crew. "Men. Clear away the bodies of your fallen brothers! They have all been loyal, and we will treat their bodies with the utmost respect on their souls' last night on Earth. As for the prisoner that is with us, no one is to go down to him except myself, and I expect you all to refer to him as Captain Arthur Kirkland when you speak, for he is still a captain even if he is our enemy."

Not a single man resisted his words as an "aye!" filled the air, lacking in the liveliness and strength it usually had.

It was then Captain Antonio returned to his quarters to repair the damaged navy coat.

The next day, and every day after for weeks, Antonio would go down to the brig, two times throughout the day. Once when bringing a midday meal, and one for the evening meal. Each time he would attempt to converse with his prisoner, and always was met with silence. His hat stayed upon the barrel. Captain Arthur Kirkland remained hostile.

The cycle was never ending, until one day a different face, one that was not the surprisingly familiar face of Captain Carriedo, appeared down in the brig.

Startled, Captain Kirkland met the crewmember's eyes as he took his midday meal. "What has befallen Captain Carriedo?" He asked, startled at how raspy his voice sounded after weeks of not being used.

His words startled the crewmember too, for the man jumped and whipped around, eyes wide in shock. "You speak! The Captain said you did not. He has been injured from a raid, and will not be down today. He said to tell you, if you spoke, that your coat has been repaired." With that the man left, completely bewildered as to why the prisoner had spoken.

Arthur picked up Captain Carriedo's hat then, set it on his head, and pondered what could have befallen the kind Captain. No one came to him in the evening.

The next day, again at the midday meal, the same man came down, a tray of food in his hand along with a small flask of wine. "The Captain bids you good day, Captain Kirkland. He has sent some wine in apologies for not coming to see you. He was injured worse than previously thought, and will not be down today." The man said, shocked to see the hat on Arthur's head, though he didn't protest against it.

When he left, Arthur gratefully sipped the wine, savoring the gift he had been given, and once again sat in his cell, pondering what had befallen the friendly Captain. Once more, no one came in the evening.

A third day came, and once more, the man from before brought him his midday meal, this time with another flask of wine, and a small leather pouch. "The Captain sends his apologies once more, for he is still feeling weak from his injuries. He has sent a secret gift for you and another flask of wine as his apologies." Once more the man was shocked, this time to find genuine disappointment in the emerald eyes of the English captain.

"Thank you, sir. Will you send my appreciation to your Captain?" Captain Kirkland requested, forgetting for a moment he was a prisoner on the ship of the one he sent his appreciation for. Once more, when the man left, Arthur sat in his cell, sipped his wine, and pondered what had befallen the thoughtful Captain.

This time however, he had something else to ponder: the small leather pouch that had come along with his midday meal.

Slowly, he reached for the pouch and poked two fingers and his thumb inside, retrieving a small metal key. For what? He didn't know. So, he pocketed the key and sat in silence until the man returned, surprisingly with an evening meal, looking worn and tired.

"What is the matter? Has something terrible befallen your Captain?" Captain Kirkland asked, eyebrows furrowing at the thought while concern pricked at his heart. He suddenly wanted very badly to see the smiling face of the Captain.

"Your concern is welcome, Captain Kirkland, however all does not look well for the Captain... He has yet to improve and the crew is getting worried. We will be in port by dawn to seek a healer's assistance. The Captain says you have earned your freedom, and may leave once we arrive." The man mumbled, looking grieved as he left the meal and departed.

A great sadness came over Arthur then as he ran his fingers down the feather on Captain Carriedo's resplendent hat. He was disappointed he wouldn't get to see the captain's smiling face one last time before he left the ship. The Englishman wept softly late into the night for the grief that wrapped his heart, until sometime just before the midnight hour, he fell asleep. Tears of the sea still gently cutting tracks through the dirt that marked his alabaster visage.

He awoke with a start sometime in the deepest part of the night or maybe the earliest part of the morning, from a dream he could hardly dare to voice, but it had given him an idea. Perhaps the Captain wanted to see him as badly as he did, and had sent the key to his cell? It would be just like the witty man to pull such a subtle trick on his own crewmates!

Arthur barely dared to breathe as he slipped a slender, battle scarred hand through the bars of his cell, and inserted the key in the lock. It turned. He pushed the door open on silent hinges, heart fluttering madly in his chest as he snuck up on deck. How exciting this whole thing was! Forbidden, maybe even a tad... Romantic.

Slowly Arthur crept along the deck at a time no living soul should have been awake, with the darkness so deep he could feel it in his hopeless soul. Captain Arthur Kirkland, had fallen for his captor.

As he slid inside Antonio's chambers, he took the hat from his head, and stepped out of his boot, completely fearless as all pirates were. The form of the slumbering Captain was before him. To his surprise though, Captain Carriedo opened his eyes and a faint smile graced his lips. The man wasn't asleep then.

"You came. I had been convinced you would not after it was silent for so long. I am sorry I haven't been to see you. This last raid has given me a nasty wound." Antonio rasped softly, voice startlingly lacking in the grace and commanding beauty Arthur had remembered ringing in it.

The English Captain soon hurried to his captor's side with grieved emerald eyes and looked down at him, eyebrows furrowed. "You have been so kind to me, Captain... Do not fret over not coming to see me. I understand." He assured, fearlessly taking the sickly Spaniard's hand and kissing his knuckles.

"Charmed, Captain Kirkland. Please, sit on the bed with me. There is much I haven't been able to share with you in the three days I have been injured!" Antonio proclaimed, pulling Arthur's hand and moving to make room with a wince. When the English captain complied so easily with this, he smiled a bit more grandly.

"Tell me. Has my man been nice to you? If he hasn't, I will disembowel him like you once threatened to do to me!" He announced, remaining laying down as he spoke. If his man had been rude, he wanted to know about it!

"Not at all, he was a gentleman. Thank you." Arthur quickly replied, not wanting the man to die after having been rather nice. Not quite unlike the captain. As he spoke he smiled down at the injured Spanish man, their hands still linked together.

Before Antonio could speak though, Arthur raised an eyebrow to keep him quiet. "I have a question, Captain Carriedo. As your prisoner, will you hear it?"

"Enough with this "Captain" business. I am Antonio to you now. Please, share with me your question, Arturo." Antonio permitted with friendly respect laced through his verdant eyes. That Arthur was being so polite was amusing, and he pulled at his hand teasingly. "Of course, only ask after you lay down with me." He purred softly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow once more, but didn't protest. In fact he willingly laid down with the man, who surprisingly pulled him closer with strength he was shocked the injured man possessed.

"Well... I have two questions actually. Will you permit me to ask you these questions?" Arthur pressed, shifting ever so subtly to press more comfortably into the kindly Captain's side. The warmth that radiated from the tanned man's skin was tantalizing and hard to ignore after weeks in the damp, chilly prison cell.

A warm rumbling laugh resonated through the injured Spaniard's chest, much to Arthur's surprise, and he rested a battled scarred hand on top of the English Captain's flaxen hair, running his fingers through the silken strands as though they were longtime friends. "That already was a question, but I'll allow you to ask two others... as long as you rest your head against my chest and don't protest my arms holding you to me."

This Spaniard was flirtatious! Dangerously so as his calm voice, even though it was dully laced with pain, pulled at the poor Englishman's heart in unfamiliar ways, leaving him wanting the man's fingers to never leave his hair and to obey his commands in an eager fashion. His ear managed to rest just over the Captain's heart, even, strong and low as it beat rhythmically.

Captain Kirkland held his tongue until he felt two strong, warm arms wrap him in a comfortable embrace, leaving his breath caught in his throat. "Anthony, my first inquiry then, is where have you been injured that your men are so fearful for your wellbeing?"

To Antonio's excitement, though perhaps also slight trepidation, he could detect a tremendous amount of concern riddled through the English Captain's voice. Such a resplendent, captivating man was worried over him? Perhaps he too, a captain of commanding elegance, and fierce strength and grander, held worry for the man resting against his chest? He had, after all, thought about him all hours of the day as he lay, bedridden from his injuries.

The question brought on a dark, dangerous cast to the Spaniard's verdant eyes, leaving them to look like that of a violent, chaotic hurricane of green. It was not out of anger towards the question, and therefore, it's barer, but instead directed towards those who had riddled him marred and weakened. Not wanting to let the slowly tensing blond across his chest reach the conclusion such malicious disturbances inside of his mind were at all caused by him, the Captain spoke in as calm a voice he could summon forth.

"A sword slash flayed open the muscles of my back, deeper than, at first glance, had been thought. While stitched and bandaged to the best of a conquistador's abilities, lacking in a healer's skill are all my remaining men, as in the battle with your ship, our man versed in such subjects and teachings had been slain. An infection has set in that cannot be cleared up while exerting my will on that of my Spanish brothers beneath me on my craft, and therefore the decision to make for port was made the evening after the blown was inflicted." He answered, feeling the tension the held the Englishman on his chest rigid and still.

Captain Kirkland remained silent for many heart beats, processing what he had learned. The man was injured far more than he had originally thought, but with the good natured gleam that slowly returned to previously fierce eyes, his worries for the Spaniard's wellbeing faded. Surely if the Spaniard could find optimism and friendliness to be had in such a condition, he thought such infections spoken of to be treatable?

It was this reassurance with which the Englishman comforted himself, and allowed himself to voice aloud his second question.

"Anthony... I must ask my second question, but before I give voice to what troubles me, I must request... That you take no offense, nor be angered by my curiosity." He first requested, lilting, accented voice quiet and, in his nerves, taking on a hint of his elder brothers' Celtic based sound. Such a slight change in his accented voice gave him a comfort even too subtle for him to be conscious of.

The Captain looked thoughtful at his equal's request, though slowly he nodded his consent for the man to continue, far too intrigued by what plagued Arthur's enigmatic mind to think too closely about what repercussions his cooperation could possibly spawn. "Continue, if you please, Arturo."

"The kindness you have shown me from the day I was taken captive has been outstanding and completely undeserved... Pray tell, why would you waste such luxuries as wine and offer such things as to repair my coat and allow my English head to be adorned by such a prized hat, when I hardly deserved such things, not only as the attacker of your crew, but as a stubborn, hostile prisoner?" The blond asked, fervently praying he was not bringing irritation or insult to his respectable captor.

Much to his intense relief, not only was Antonio unoffended by his question, but the worn conquistador was actually greatly amused by it, as well as pleased by the recognition of his attempts at respect and peace. Friendship even.

"There is little to gain making powerful enemies, Arturo. What was I going to gain by making you miserable and depressed? Are you not also a captain, enemy or not, that deserves the respect and treatment as such? Why else do you think I would insist on being the one to take you your meals until I was unfit to do so, as well as implore that of mine to refer to you as nothing less than the captain you are? There is a reason I am not only well known, but rightfully respected by all who know of the name Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." He explained, looking rather fondly down at the Englishman that, in turn, was looking up at him with a similar fondness of his own.

It was then, most unfortunately, that the first rays of dawn were caressing that of the clouds in the sky, and the man who the Captain had sent in his place, interrupted the conversation. He came in to announce the looming approach of the docks they were setting to make port in. To the man's credit, he did not once make a comment, nor strange expression, toward the fact not only did an enemy share the space of his Captain's bed while already having announced his injured status, but a very strong, _very _male, English enemy at that.

True to the man's word, not but five minutes later did the ship touch anchor in port, and did its men begin tying it in the docks to keep it there.

Antonio and Arthur had yet to move from their position on the bed until a call was made from on deck that it was time to set foot onto land.

It was at this juncture in time, that Antonio stiffly got up off of bed, forcing Arthur to move off the top of him, and walked to a worn wooden chair where a navy garment, stitched perfectly, lay on top of a crimson article of similar fashion and elegance. His battle scarred hand retrieved the garment with the utmost care before turning around to face a regretful looking Englishman.

"True to my word, I have repaired your Captain's jacket. You will find all your belongings to be exactly where they were before being damaged. You are free to depart my ship, Captain Kirkland. It has been the strangest pleasure." He announced, voice surprisingly raspy as though he had worsened dramatically with what little movement he had partaken in.

As he handed the navy robes over to the once more grieving blond, he caught the man's pale hand and brought him to his chest, letting Arthur truly feel every plane and flex of muscle in his arms and torso. He, in turn, felt the supple strength the smaller blond possessed in his own body, as well as caught a much stronger lungful than ever before of the man's scent that had become strangely familiar over the weeks of having him captive.

Heart beats stretched on as the two became more than reluctant to let each other go, but as the call came again of being ready to go ashore, the Captain was forced to break the embrace, but not before a gentle, yet powerful kiss was placed to that of his captive's lips.

"Wait until all is silent on deck. The man from before will come for you then, letting you know all is safe to leave." And without a word of explanation for such a confusion causing gesture, the Spanish captain stiffly walked out of his quarters, leaving Captain Kirkland alone to grieve more than he thought possible for the loss.

He waited until, as promised, the man from the past few days came for him, and he easily slipped from the ship, heart heavy.

Days it took for him to find a safe passing back to England, and days he went without checking his pockets, trusting Antonio's word whole heartedly, believing his belongs were all as they should be, and it was not until he returned to his homeland, a day shy of a month after departing the company of the Captain, that he rummaged through his pockets in search of something unimportant compared to the gifts he ended up finding.

A rosary of a fine, battle worn wood, was carefully wrapped around a stick of cinnamon and parchment: a parchment with elegantly swooping calligraphy labeled "Mi Arturo" on the front.

With shuddering fingers, Arthur raised the rosary to his head and slipped it on, the faint weight of the cross hanging around his neck bringing a fond smile to his lips that only faltered when he hesitantly unfolded the parchment and pocketed the cinnamon.

"_Mi querido. I have let you go, no doubt with a heart aching as terribly as my own. Do not think that this is goodbye. I have left something with you I fully intend to retrieve, though it may take time for me to come find you once more. Take care of it, as it signifies a promise to return to you some day, even if only to be told you have found a great, malicious anger for this conquistador's soul. Until then, Arturo. –Antonio"_

Years went by. Arthur became a naval Captain of the Queen, and yet, everywhere he went, whether it by worn around his neck or safely tucked into a pocket, the worn rosary of the Captain's came with him, as well as a fresh stick of cinnamon, while the note stayed safely in its own drawer, first on his ship and then in his quarters in the Castle.

It was because of this promise, that never a day went by that the English Captain did not long for the kind, fierce presence of the Captain he had left. Not even on the nights like the one he laid awake for, eyes unable to find rest in the untimely hour as he ran a thumb over the rosary at his throat, thoughts pouring over every little fading detail he recalled of his days back with the Captain.

And it was because of this promise, that Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, with a bounty double of what it had been years prior, in the deepest part of the night, or perhaps the earliest part of the morning, crept through the streets of Berkshire, past the guardsmen of the Windsor Castle with its ten new brass canons and a bridge slated for construction, and into the candle lit room of Captain Arthur Kirkland.

It was in that room where he received in turn what he had already given to the one prisoner he had ever had before and let go: A sea roughened heart and all the love in the world.

* * *

**There was very little Spanish in this, but for those who don't know, "mi querido" Is my dearest/my dear. Feel free to leave a review for me! :) **


End file.
